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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26723518">Stand &amp; Deliver</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy'>sequence_fairy</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheithFixitZine/pseuds/SheithFixitZine'>SheithFixitZine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Written in the Stars - a Sheith Fixit Zine [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, M/M, Sparring</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:35:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26723518</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheithFixitZine/pseuds/SheithFixitZine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Bet I could still take you down,” Keith challenges, picking up their earlier conversation as he falls into step beside Shiro.</p>
  <p>“You think so?” Shiro asks, not missing a beat. He turns his prosthetic this way and that. Keith watches the movement, rapt. “Even with this fancy new hand of mine?” </p>
  <p>“Wanna bet?”</p>
</blockquote>Keith meets Shiro on the mats of the Atlas' gym, for the same bet as usual even though Shiro's got a shiny new arm.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith/Shiro (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Written in the Stars - a Sheith Fixit Zine [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939831</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Written in the Stars - a Sheith Fixit Zine</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stand &amp; Deliver</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy to finally get to post my piece for the Written in the Stars 'zine! Thanks very much to the entire crew of folks who worked hard to put the 'zine together and get it into our hands. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The gym on the Atlas has no particular quiet hours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What with the rotating duty shifts, and the fact that space travel over long distances, in lighter-than-earth gravity, demands heavier muscle conditioning routines, there is almost always someone about. Regardless, Keith spends a large portion of his own down time in the gym, working out the simmering frustration of seemingly never-ending meetings on the heavy bag. Thanks to a quirk in his schedule, he usually manages to spend most of his work out in a cocoon of general silence, and after the last fraught bridge officers meeting that ended in a pissing match between himself and Lance, Keith doubly doesn’t want company.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luck, however, has other plans. He palms the pad at the door and a riot of noise pours out as the door slides open. Keith instinctively takes a step back, and considers backing out entirely, but curiosity about the source of the wild cheering wins over a desire not the engage with the crowd and he walks in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crowd is gathered near the flat mats in the centre of the room. Keith’s bag bumps against his hip as he nears the last line of people, a yell going up from the front. Keith presses up onto his tiptoes, but he can’t see anything over the heads in front of him. He pushes forward. People make space, especially once they see who it is who is pushing through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Keith finally breaks through to the front of the crowd, he’s just in time to watch Shiro throw Matt, ass over teakettle. Matt lands hard, and the roar that follows is deafening. Keith dismisses the heap of Holt on the ground and searches out Shiro instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s chest is heaving, his t-shirt straining and sweat-damp. He’s grinning, full of teeth. The bottom drops out of Keith’s stomach and he swallows. Shiro’s eyes are warm and intent, softened by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. Keith can’t look away, but also can’t seem to look at him straight on. Blood rushes, thunderous, in Keith’s ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro breaks their gaze, and Keith follows his line of sight to where Matt is slowly getting to his feet. “You done, Holt?” Shiro asks, crossing his arms over his chest. The crowd holds their collective breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt rolls his shoulders and licks his lips. At his sides, his hands flex, curling and uncurling, then flatten against his thighs. For a moment, Keith is sure that Matt is going to push for another round but then, from the pile of their bags at the edge of the mat, Matt’s communicator goes off with a shrill alarm. Matt’s eyes widen a fraction before he smirks again. “Yeah,” he says, “I’ve had my fill of being tossed around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro laughs. “Nice work,” he says, stepping forward to meet Matt in the middle. They shake hands and Shiro musses up Matt’s hair before letting their joined hands fall. Shiro looks back at Keith, who hasn’t moved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Around him, the crowd is dispersing. Keith ignores them. “Hey Shiro,” he says, when Shiro gets close enough. Shiro leans in, presses their foreheads together and Keith closes his eyes. They’re standing close enough together that Keith can feel the body heat coming off Shiro, close enough that the scent of his sweat rises between them, clean and sharp. Keith’s caught on the line of Shiro’s mouth, the ghost of Shiro’s breath over Keith’s mouth. He’s stuck on the way he wants to tremble like a hare caught in the gaze of a predator. The thought draws Keith up short, followed as it is by the warmth that spills down his spine. Keith breaks the moment, rocking back on his heels while he reaches for Shiro’s free hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you’re kicking Matt’s ass for fun now?” Keith asks, as they make their way to the locker room. Shiro peels off his shirt once inside and disappears into one of the showers while Keith stows his bag and pulls out his tape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wanted to see if he could handle the new arm,” Shiro says, muffled under the spray. Keith hears the pop of a cap and the bloom of the scent of Shiro’s shampoo follows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t look like he was doing a very good job,” Keith says, biting off a piece of tape with his teeth. He smooths the edge down across the palm of his hand and clenches his fist experimentally. Satisfied, he begins on the other hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah,” Shiro says as Keith is finishing up his other hand. The shower curtain rattles as Shiro gropes for his towel. “He held his own okay,” Shiro says, snagging the towel finally and pulling it into the shower stall with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shower curtain rattles as Shiro steps out. Keith looks up from his tape work. Water beads and rolls down the slope of Shiro’s shoulders where it drips off his hair. Keith can almost taste the clean heat of Shiro’s skin. His mouth waters. Keith swallows and looks back down at his hand, curling it into a fist and eyeing the tape lines critically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro bangs open his locker and paws through his bag. “I just have an arm that doesn’t obey the laws of physics.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, is that all?” Keith says. The towel is wrapped tight around Shiro’s hips, baring the line of his spine to Keith’s wandering eyes. This thing between them is still new enough that sometimes, Keith has to remind himself that he’s allowed to look. Keith’s eyes skip along the line of Shiro’s jaw, catch on the bunch of the muscles in Shiro’s arms and then fall to the dimples at the base of his spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro turns just as Keith is dragging his gaze back up to somewhere near Shiro’s face. Shiro’s mouth curves into a smirk so knowing that it makes Keith fumble his roll of tape. He catches it at the last moment and looks up to see Shiro openly smiling down at him. “See something you like, hot-shot?” Shiro asks, and Keith flushes to the roots of his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I–uh–” Keith says, and Shiro laughs, low and amused. Their gazes catch and Keith swallows air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, Keith,” Shiro says, breaking their shared stare by tugging his shirt on over his head. Keith sinks down to sit on the bench and test the knots in his shoelaces before digging out his gloves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See you after your shift?” Keith asks, once Shiro’s dressed again and fussing with the fall of his bangs in the mirror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Shiro says, catching Keith’s eye in their reflection. “I’ll see you later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith leaves the locker room, mind caught in the snare of Shiro’s eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-=-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Later, after Keith has sat through another round of diplomatic meetings that make him want to tear his hair out from sheer frustration, he picks Shiro up at the end of his shift on the bridge. Shiro’s smile splits his face when he sees Keith waiting for him around the corner, and Keith doesn’t even try to keep his own mouth from curving into a grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Shiro gets close enough, Keith pushes off the wall, and reaches for him. They fall together like bodies in collapsing orbit, Shiro’s arms coming up around Keith’s waist, and Keith’s hand settling into the sway of Shiro’s lower back. “Missed you,” Shiro says, voice pitched low and fond, right by Keith’s ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They break apart after a moment, and Keith knows his smile is a little lopsided, but it’s okay, because Shiro’s looking down at him like Keith’s the prize he’s been waiting for all day. Shiro presses a kiss to Keith’s temple, just the barest touch of lips against skin, but it still makes Keith’s insides go warm and liquid, like someone has poured sunshine into the heart of him. He can feel himself flushing, and Shiro grins, pleased, as he tucks a strand of hair behind Keith’s ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dinner?” Shiro asks, and Keith nods. They head for the lift at the next corridor junction, and Keith lets his hand brush against Shiro’s. The contact both soothes and excites, and then it settles into a gentle warmth under Keith’s sternum when Shiro laces their fingers together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bet I could still take you down,” Keith challenges, picking up their earlier conversation as he falls into step beside Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think so?” Shiro asks, not missing a beat. He turns his prosthetic this way and that. Keith watches the movement, rapt. “Even with this fancy new hand of mine?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna bet?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pushes the call button for the lift, and leans against the wall, appraising Keith with a long look. Keith waits him out, arms crossed over his chest. “Sure,” Shiro says, easy, as they board the just-arrived lift. “What do I get when I win?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s ‘when’ is it?” Keith says, mirth lighting his eyes. “You sure sound confident.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can take you,” Shiro says, and Keith cuts off his noise of disbelief before it can get all the way out of his mouth. Shiro hears him anyway, and one eyebrow lifts. “It’s just a matter of how much of a fight you’ll put up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know about that, Shiro,” Keith answers. The lift comes to a smooth halt on a lower deck. The officer’s mess is just down the corridor and the scent of something spicy wafts into the lift car as the door slides open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dinner smells good,” Shiro says, conversational, then, “you still haven’t said what I get when I win.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still ‘when’, eh?” Keith balls one fist and lobs a punch at Shiro’s shoulder as he pushes past him out into the corridor. Shiro flinches dramatically, rubbing at his arm with a frown. Keith scoffs, and Shiro cracks a grin, reaching out to poke Keith between the ribs as he passes. Keith yelps, and then shoves at Shiro, setting off an escalating series of shoves that end in shaky laughter when Shiro boxes Keith in against the wall, their bodies lined up from chest to hip.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So? What’re the stakes?” Shiro’s voice is a low rumble, and Keith wants to lean up, and close the gap, but Shiro steps back before he can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought our usual wager…?” Keith trails off, annoyed at how breathless he sounds from just a moment of contact. Shiro grins, knowing that they both win, regardless, in that case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Shiro agrees, and holds the door of the mess open for Keith.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-=-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith’s fast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro knows this going in, but it still surprises him just how quick Keith is. Keith moves like water, never still, always finding the holes in Shiro’s defenses and yielding only to return with more force from another direction. Shiro ducks a high kick, but he’s too slow to twist entirely out of the way of Keith’s fist. The impact skates along Shiro’s shoulder blade and Shiro turns to face Keith straight on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Had enough yet?” Keith asks, one eyebrow raised in challenge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Shiro says, and charges. Keith leaps out of the way of Shiro’s reaching arms and then weaves in, ducking a haymaker that would have lain him out flat had it connected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith launches himself at Shiro. Shiro overbalances, the added weight of Keith shifting his centre of gravity, and they go down, Keith’s thighs around Shiro’s neck. Keith’s hands land flat on the mat beside Shiro’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice move,” Shiro says, voice strained. Keith grins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still sure you can take me?” Keith asks. Shiro says nothing, just heaves and topples Keith off his chest. Keith scrambles, but Shiro is too fast, and his reach with the prosthetic too long. It takes no time at all to corral Keith under him, hands pinned over his head and Shiro’s weight planted across Keith’s thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s grip is merciless, but Keith tugs anyway. “Yield,” Shiro says, voice a dark rumble. Keith inhales sharply. The air between them goes liquid with tension. Shiro’s bangs brush Keith’s forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I win,” Shiro declares, and Keith yields under the press of Shiro’s mouth. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come chat about my fic on <a href="https://twitter.com/warpspeed_chic">twitter!</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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